


Gonna Make You Burn

by intentioncraft



Series: How Deep It Goes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Hook-Up, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Daddy Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Open Relationships, Power Bottom Dean, Sex, Siren Dean, Vampire Benny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentioncraft/pseuds/intentioncraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s going to have a rainbow of hickeys tomorrow and he doesn’t even care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Details on dub-con warning: Dean doesn't disclose to Victor that he's a siren right away. They don't get far.
> 
> Unbeta'd and shameless. I'll think of a name for this series some time.

Dean’s going to have a rainbow of hickeys tomorrow and he doesn’t even care. More likely, he’s going to relish them for as long as they last. He's going to wear shirts that expose the apricot pit-shaped bruises littered across his pale neck and collarbone. He’ll show them off around, Benny, who can never resist kissing over each of them, lips cold, fangs like knives, dragging out the phantom scent of blood.

The thought of Benny’s mouth on his neck is a current of arousal that makes him gasp, not that he isn’t already turned on by who he’s with right now. He’s just good at multitasking.

But he really should give his full attention over, so his fingers wrap around the the guy’s head, around his ears. Victor, he said his name was. _Vic,_  because Dean thinks that’s hot and he hasn't come up with a better nickname for the bald, built black man with the most amazing ass Dean's ever seen in business pants. He’s tight and strong, shorter than Dean by a fraction but he holds himself confidently as he backs Dean into the wall of the hotel room Dean just paid way too much for.

He pulls Vic’s head back to expose the shadowy stubble trailing off his artfully sculpted facial hair, and licks the sweat-sticky skin that was covered by the collar of his crisp white shirt just a few minutes ago. Victor’s throat rumbles as Dean returns the favour and leaves a trail of brutal kisses over and around his Adam’s apple.

For a moment, Dean believes he’s gained the upper hand, but then a hard pressure on his dick — Vic’s knee — pushes the breath out of him and Dean throws his head back against the wall with a loud thud.

“ _Fuck_. Fuck me,” he says. It’s a complete accident.

Victor laughs lightly and seems to hold his reply, but then he’s shoving a warm hand down the loosened front of Dean’s jeans to cup him through his underwear, which kind of says it all. Remarkably soft and expert, his fingers squeeze just enough to make Dean whimper needily into the crook of his neck, sunglasses digging into Victor's jaw and Dean's temple. Dean stiffens, a flash of guilt freezing him where he stands right as Victor's fingers tickle their way down to his balls.

Sensing something’s wrong, Victor pauses and Dean inhales, a strange, fluttery noise and takes them both by surprise by taking Victor’s wrist and getting it away from his crotch.

Vic raises one beautiful eyebrow, “What, are you going to finish undressing me now?”

Dean’s fully hard but his mouth is suddenly dry. _Goddammit_ , he thinks, every single fucking time. No matter how close he sticks to the script, no matter how he follows the steps. Friendly, flirtatious, _can I get you a drink_? Fast, dirty small talk, and then _do you want to get out of here?_ He did it, he did it all. He followed the rules. This is about as vanilla as a casual hook-up can get and Victor Something is here, he wants it, he wants Dean, but Dean’s frozen where he stands because he’s going to have to take off his stupid sunglasses sooner or later.

“Listen — I, uh,” Dean starts, stalls, and licks his lips to try again, “I have to tell you something kind of important.”

Ominous enough, Victor ceases his efforts to get into Dean’s pants and stares, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Um,” _Smooth_.

“You married?”

“Uh, no.”

“You straight?”

Dean laughs nervously, “God, no.”

“Well, come on, pretty boy. What’s the ma—”

Dean chooses that moment to just blurt it out, “I’m a siren.”

The temperature drops ten degrees between them, a flash freeze that almost burns. Dean curses softly and tilts his head back against the wall in defeat, letting the cold silence expand as Victor takes a fairly large step back and trains his eyes on Dean’s. They’re still shielded by dark aviators.

Vic’s expression is unreadable, “No kidding.”

“Nope,” Dean replies cautiously, “I didn’t want to…you know…”

“I do know,” Victor says. He crosses his arms over his chest. Even though he’s pissed as hell, Dean stares at the way his biceps tighten in his sleeves, “Matter of fact, I deal with your kind quite regularly.”

Dean blinks and looks up. _Okay_.

“So, what? You seduce me the old fashioned way, get me alone and ready to roll only for you to tell me you’re a reformed sex demon who wants to experience a   _real human connectio_ n?” Victor asks, his accusing tone making Dean feel smaller and smaller, “And then, of course, you flash those pretty eyes at me and suck me dry once I’m putty in your magical hands.”

“I didn't — I'm not  —” Dean bristles weakly, raising his arms in defense. It’s a ridiculous scene, pathetic. His pants are halfway undone, cock still not wilting in his boxers because it’s a goddamned traitor. They aren’t gonna have sex, and it’s definitely for the better, but Dean likes the way Vic’s voice drips with authority, formality, even with his collar tugged down and Dean’s kisses all over his neck.

He doesn’t regret saying anything, he only regrets that he is what he is.

“I’m not interested in killing anybody, okay? I just...wanted...”

“Uh-huh,” Victor waves his hand and picks his jacket up off the floor, shakes out the wrinkles and stuffs his arms in the sleeves. He doesn’t fix his shirt, “Forget it, alright? I’m gonna leave now, and since you’re technically not breaking any laws, I won’t arrest you.”

Dean blinks, again, “Wait, what?”

“Go home, Dean,” Victor pulls out his wallet, drops it open to reveal a shining badge that makes Dean’s skin prickle, his feet like lead on the floor.

" _Shit_."

"Yeah, shit," Vic parrots back. He flips his wallet shut and gives Dean a dangerous, crotch-tingling smile, "Count yourself lucky, this time."

—

"Have fun?" Benny's nose is in Dean's hair, greeting him with a crushing hug at the door of their apartment. He's in a bathrobe, soft and steamy from a shower, and he inhales Dean’s scent that must go something like: booze, sweat, lilac hotel shampoo. Vampire senses though, of course he might sense something else like frustration, maybe even fear. Benny stills.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh, well," Dean feels like an idiot, not just because he made a fool of himself by not reading Victor closer, reading the signs sooner, but because he’s still far too attracted to the man for his own good, "I met someone last night."

"Yeah?" Benny says, moving away from Dean to pour them both coffee. He takes a seat and doesn't ask for any more details right away. He knows Dean will share if he wants to, because Dean's been open with him many times before, whispering in Benny’s ear the dirtiest fantasies he can imagine like any other couple would. But when it comes to the people Dean sleeps with outside of their relationship, Dean will keep that to himself.

Except this one, since Dean kind of screwed up. And it might affect Benny.

 _It was awful and my date thought I wanted to suck the life out of him through his dick._ That would rile Benny up, but it’s not exactly fair for Dean to say _that_ , so, "He's a fucking cop."

Benny drops the sugar spoon.

"Dean."

"I know! Okay, before you get all pissed at me, we didn't actually   _do_  anything because he went all...you know, hard-ass cop on me when I told him. He wasn't happy,” as Dean explains, but even as he goes over the whole fiasco for Benny, he can’t keep the smile from creeping into his expression.

Benny snorts, belying the tension in his shoulders. Cops are bad news. The two of them aren't exactly criminals, but they do get involved with some shady shit. And Victor had a point when he said he knew about Dean’s type the night before, and he can only imagine what Victor would have to say about Benny if he knew about _him_. A siren and a vampire running together looks bad, it looks like a crime duo, and Dean wouldn't be totally surprised or offended if patrol cars showed up outside their building with a warrant.

Except, goddamn. That _ass_.

Dean shakes his head to clear the image of Victor leading Dean down the hallway to their rented room, clear the vicious sound Victor made when Dean slapped his ass, but Benny’s already staring. He doesn’t have to wear his sunglasses around Benny and Dean was unfortunately born with very expressive eyes. Benny’s eyebrows go up in a silent question.

“I’m not gonna — Jesus Christ, Benny,” Dean says, “I mean, he was _hot._  And a really good kisser. And if you could see this guy’s ass you’d get why I’m still thinking about him,” he realizes that he’s walking right into a trap, but it’s Benny and he loves him so he might as well be completely honest, “And then I found out he was a cop and that made him, you know, hotter.”

“You have a complex,” Benny shakes his head.

Dean doesn’t deny it, just shrugs.

“Whatever. It’s done. I didn’t get arrested," he says, lets the   _yet_  hang by a thread,  and then, with barely tamed giddiness, "although I suppose I _did_  get a warning."

Benny sighs and sips his coffee.

"So, you busy right now?”

“Not particularly,” Benny replies, “Just gonna check the paper and get laundry started,” he leaves his expression neutral.

Dean slides over to Benny and puts his arms around his shoulders, rolls his hips and rubs himself on Benny's back. Benny straightens from his morning slouch and Dean turns his lips to his ear, “Well, good. Because I didn't get any last night and I could really use some right now.”

—

The hot, strobing lights and deep bass pulse thickly through Dean's body in time with the pleasure creeping into his veins as he leans his head back against the padded wall, drinks in the humming conversations around him, losing himself in the pace of people moving on the dance floor. Bodies rolling and heaving with the thumping music, sweat, anticipation, build-up, release.

He loves Benny, God help him he does, but a siren still has needs that the undead can’t fulfil.

“So, what, you’re one of those danger junkies, or something?”

Dean’s eyes fly open at that voice, the deep, commanding accent sending a thrill of alarm atop the endorphins soaking into his bloodstream and he almost chokes on his own spit when he sees the cop from a few nights ago, Victor, standing there. He’s wearing a simple dark purple t-shirt with some colourful band logo on it and jeans. _Jeans_. Dean’s throat goes tight as he splutters out a simple, poignant _fuck_.

“I ain’t here to arrest you, Winchester.”

“How d’you know my last name?” Dean demands.

Victor shrugs like it's nothing, “Did a quick background check,” before Dean can rise up angrily at the invasion of privacy, Victor cuts in, “Hey, consider it payback for getting me half out of my clothes before telling me that you’re a goddamned sex demon.”

“Siren.”

“Right, _siren_. Anyways, I ran your profile and nothing came back all that dirty. A bit of vandalism and minor public mischief from what I assume are your rebellious years. A few more recent traffic violations. '67 Impala, huh? Nice.”

It’s an awkward moment to do it, but Dean lets out the breath that had stalled up in his lungs the moment he heard Victor’s voice again, “This you trying to apologize?”

Shrugging again, “Can’t blame me for playing it safe. You wanna drink?” Victor seems to have drawn closer to Dean without him noticing, his heat on Dean’s arm, too close and too far away at the same time. He smells sweet and smoky.

Dean swallows. Benny’s going to kill him later, “We doin’ this again?”

Victor crosses his arms and considers Dean with a stern expression that makes Dean's entire body tingle pleasantly, “That’s up to you. You got any more secrets?”

Dean lifts his shoulders, “I’ve got a boyfriend,” Victor’s face sours, “He’s good with this, though. His name's Benny. He's um—he's a vampire.”

He's not sure if Victor believes him, because all he does is laugh darkly and say, “Great. Just my luck," and Dean thinks that he could grow to like Victor's bitter sense humour.

His eyes crinkle behind his sunglasses and he let's Victor make the next move, soon finding himself dragged by his wrist to the bar. Victor flags the bartender for two beers.

"Here's the plan, Winchester: I've got a few more questions, because I'm not entirely sure about you yet,” he tilts the lip of his bottle at Dean, “but I _do_ know that I want another shot with you. So, if all goes well, we head back to my place for a good old-fashioned hook-up. You game?"

"Yes, sir," Dean says and takes a sip of his drink.

"Hm, I like that," Victor's thumb slides over Dean's lip, catches a drop of liquid, "Keep calling me that."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what? You guys are like vigilante monster superheroes or something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter was kind of necessary :P
> 
> Rating went up, added some tags.

“So, what? You guys are like vigilante monster superheroes or something?”

“More like private investigators.”

The lights are dim in the bedroom, Victor’s excellent taste in interior design leaves Dean impressed. Such a stern overall attitude, he hadn’t expected much more than the bare necessities but Victor doesn’t pass up on luxury and Dean could get used to it.

Victor leans back on top of the rumpled sheets and stares at the drying pools of white on his dark skin.

“Here, I’ll get that,” Dean scrambles off the bed to wet a washcloth in the bathroom, limbs buzzing pleasantly, that _good sex_ feeling re-energizing him after a few days of going mostly cold, and comes back to find Victor checking something on his phone, placid expression. 

Victor’s abs jump as Dean dabs at his stomach with the cloth, “Is it legal?”

“Mostly.”

“Hm,” is the reply. 

He places his phone back on the night table and puts his arms behind his head as Dean starts wiping around his cock. He’s gentle enough, but Vic still twitches at Dean’s touch, sensitive as hell, “It’s not like either of us could be real cops.”

“Are you good at it?”

Dean’s busy admiring the perfect shape of Victor’s dick to distract himself from thinking too deeply about his answers, but he mumbles, “We do all right. Sometimes it’s hard, given the cases we usually take.”

“Cases involving monsters.”

Dean hates that word, but with the things he’s seen, he can only give in to the accuracy, “Yeah.”

Victor sits up at that moment and wraps his fingers around the back of Dean’s neck to pull him down. He kisses him hard on the mouth, Dean's sunglasses digging into his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Dropping the cloth, Dean feels dizzy with renewed need, ready for more sex, but first Victor says hoarsely, “I was wrong about you, Winchester. I never actually apologized.”

Colouring slightly and pulling back to give them both breathing room, Dean says, “Nah, it’s nothing. I should’ve said something as soon as I met you,” _Even if it scared you off right then and there._

For all of Victor’s gorgeous everything, Dean’s never paid too much attention to his eyes. Eyes are dangerous, the windows to the soul, a direct line to someone’s mind, after all. Staring too long, Dean feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.

But now that he peers at him through his dark lenses, Victor has beautiful eyes, large and rich and brown. They soften his face, even when he’s wearing his authority in every line and angle, even when he’s barking at Dean to keep his knees spread, to arch his back, to moan like he means it. His eyes are there to remind Dean that he’s human, after everything. He’s only human.

Dean throws his leg over Victor’s hip to straddle him, hand planted on Victor’s chest to keep him down in the mattress. The conversation's aiming somewhere too tender for Dean and this is what they're here for anyway. Vic's worn out, but still eager for more, and so he lets it happen with eyes shut and sleepy. But as as soon as Dean ruts down he feels the cock nestled against his balls respond and Vic’s hands go to Dean’s thighs.

“I want to ride you,” Dean leans down and whispers in his ear. Vic nods against his cheek, and before he can say another word Dean’s reaching behind them to jerk Victor’s cock to full hardness.

He sinks onto it slowly, pointlessly slowly since he’s still open and slick. Not wet enough to take the bright edge off the stretch, the pain of it making him sit up a little straighter, but Dean’s always liked a little pain, always liked the way it makes his skin heat up and start to sweat. Victor’s hands land in the marks he left the first time, squeezing deeper as Dean's own dick fills at the flood of sensations.

“How’s it feel?” Dean asks, voice dropped back into his husky bedroom tones as he sits with his ass on Victor's groin and relishes every jerk and tremble between them. Victor’s cock fits him perfectly, just a bit longer than Benny but not quite as thick and if Dean tilts his hips forward minutely he can feel the tip nudge right against his prostate.

“Like a dream.”

Dean laughs. That’s some sappy shit, coming from the man who pounded Dean into a rapture less than an hour ago, “Oh, I am,” he replies, and lifts on his knees, a high moan pealing out of his chest as Victor slides out of him. Dean keeps his mouth open because figured out early on that Victor liked the shape of Dean's lips as he lowers into his next thrust. Victor purrs with him as their bodies meet.

He rubs behind Dean’s hip, soothing, “Baby, come on, you can go faster than that.”

Dean quirks his lips, locking into his new role with ease, “Can I, daddy?”

The obscene noise Victor makes in reply is liquid fire, urgent and furious and consuming, and the groans that spill from his open lips as Dean obeys and fucks himself ruthlessly on his dick, gradually working up a tempo that rocks the headboard into the wall, rejuvenate Dean and inspire him to make Victor feel even _more_.

But after a few minutes of uninterrupted, frenzied fucking, Victor says, “Baby, baby, hang on. Slow down,” He’s breathless, eyes wild, and his hand is on Dean’s chest, braced against his collarbone to hold him in place. The other is still rubbing his lower back, grounding Dean.

Dean’s thighs burn from the effort and his ass throbs from use, so he relaxes his pace, grateful, exhaling and inhaling noisily.

The fingers on his chest dig into his skin, nails scratching red lines. Victor’s eyes black and imploring and full of unbridled desire, “I wanna see you, please, baby. Let me see you.”

 _Jesus_ , _that’s good_ , “I’m right here, daddy. Look at me.”

But Victor is insistent on something more, though, and his hand climbs up to claw at Dean’s cheeks, his jaw, the frames of his sunglasses, “No, I wanna see your face. All of it. I wanna see your eyes.”

 _That_ drops Dean back down like a bag of bricks from an airplane, “What?” his heart constricts and he instinctively adjusts his sunglasses and pushes Victor’s hand away, “Vic, that’s—I don’t think—”

“Please.”

“No.”

Dean rolls off Victor, a sharp emptiness left behind that Dean doesn’t have to force himself to ignore because nausea rises up in him, guilt and agitation killing his high in seconds.

But Victor doesn’t look dazed or lost or any of that. He doesn’t look charmed or enchanted.

He _does_ look a bit pissed off.

“Dean, come on.”

“I said no,” Dean repeats, “You know better than that,” or he _thought_ Victor knew better than that, given how their first hook up went. Given how aggressively against it Victor was and how hard he dragged Dean for being dishonest with him.

Then again, that was then. Maybe Dean _did_ do something. Maybe he wasn’t careful enough and Victor got a peek, maybe the position allowed him to catch a look beneath Dean’s lenses and at his eyes. Maybe—

“Can you control it?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you won’t try to hurt me.”

“Of course not—”

“Then,” Victor says, “what’s the problem?”

Dean yanks the sheets over himself, pulls them right from under Victor’s ass, so he can cover himself up. He doesn’t want to feel Victor’s residual pleasure washing over his skin anymore, “I’m not here for that. This — what we’re already doing — it’s enough.”

“But it could be better?”

“I didn’t say that! I said it’s enough,” Dean says, “I know how to get by, all right?”

“But what if I’m offering?”

“Then that makes you a dumbass.”

Victor huffs angrily but instead of fighting back he stares at the ceiling. Dean plays with the edge of the sheet, wondering if he should just leave, how he could make an exit. He obviously broke something between them, so soon after building up a tentative truce, and oddly enough it hurts. This is only a hook-up, but Dean hurts that he might end it on such a bad note.

And such an avoidable one.

But he just can’t do _that_ , can’t do what Victor asks. It’s too big a risk.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says. Victor rolls his eyes and starts to jerk off lazily beside him. Dean furrows his brow and watches him mostly because it’s something to look at that isn’t Victor’s face.

“I know what you mean, but you shouldn’t have to be,” Victor replies. The pissiness is gone, the spark is gone, too, “It’s what you are. You can’t help it. I’m the one that got carried away,” his voice sounds almost numb, but it's broken by a grim laugh, "Maybe _I'm_ the danger junkie out of the two of us."

“Whatever,” Dean isn’t going to argue with him anymore, so he sinks his head into the pillow and quietly watches Victor jerk off. He does it slowly and aimlessly, lasting forever.

“You do it with your boyfriend, right? The vampire?”

Dean squirms deeper into his cocoon, “It’s different. He’s immune.”

“Guess it must be nice, huh?” Victor says, no note of envy, just stating a fact.

Dean isn’t sure if it’s just a siren thing or just a _him_ thing, but he remembers things in crushing detail, and he remembers especially the first time he had sex with Benny and what it was like to see him, see them both connected through his naked eyes. No coke-coloured tinged, no strange reflections, no glare. Benny’s fingers brushed his crow’s feet and then his eyelashes. He pressed their foreheads together and Dean saw the exact colour of Benny’s icy blue eyes.

Dean was himself. He was bare. He breathed in the world through sight and drank in every sensation in full colour. He might not have been able to feed off the vampire, but he could feed off everything around him instead.

“It’s something.”

Victor lets out a rough breath and Dean’s drawn out of his thoughts and back to Victor’s cock. The head is shining with pre-come, swollen, too sensitive, and Dean aches to take it in his mouth and finish him but the thing between them — while not totally broken, he supposes — is still too delicate to test.

Instead, he wiggles a little closer, still wrapped up in the sheets, and says, “This is something, too.”

“Hm?” Victor grunts. He turns his chin down to look at Dean. His eyes are brown. Maybe one day. Someday, Dean thinks he’ll learn the exact shade of them.

“Yeah. We could be something.”

“We—” Victor pauses to give his cock a squeeze, a groan. He’s close, Dean can see it in the muscles just above where his pubes start, “We could, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, voice low and his throat dry. Victor gives him a smirk and reaches out with his unused hand to muss Dean’s hair. As he does that, Dean feels his fingers tighten, watches his entire body spasm as white spurts and bubbles from the tip of his cock and spills over his hand.

Victor finishes himself with one hand on Dean’s head, the heel of his palm bending the arm of Dean’s sunglasses. Once he's stopped dribbling all over himself, he says, “You next?” and eyes up Dean's covered groin.

Dean blinks behind his glasses and smiles, “Not right now. I'm beat.”

Victor starts to laugh, “Jesus. Only I could screw up sex with a sex demon," he says, barest hint of misery, "I owe you an orgasm,” he promises.

“You can just say ‘Dean, can I have your number’.”

"Nah, I was gonna wait for you to ask. Can't look too desperate."

Dean launches clumsily over Victor’s lax body and snatches his sleek little phone from the night table, "You're such a prick."

"You _like_ pricks."

Smiling widely as he punches in his digits, Dean puts under company name: _Sex Demons Inc_. and tosses it back at Victor, “At your service, agent.”

Victor wipes his hand on the sheets and picks up his phone, flicks through Dean’s contact page and lets a low, lazy laugh rise from his lips as he says, “You’re twisted, you know that?”

Dean settles in next to Victor, close enough to feel the last pangs of his release brush his face like a warm summer breeze. It’s not enough to shake up some last reserves of energy and _now_ all Dean feels like doing is taking a long, post-sex nap, but it is enough to bring a feeling of peace and contentment that he might want to share with Victor some day down the road. 

“Yeah, well,” he says once Victor wrestles his arm around Dean’s shoulders, “I think you _like_ twisted.”

 


End file.
